


a delicate disaster

by mikawazowski



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alfred Pennyworth is the Best, Autistic Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Complicated Relationships, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, Gay Characters, Hurt/Comfort, I was gonna mark this as teen but then I realized there’s murder in it whoops, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Recovery, Slow Burn, Trans Male Character, batman being a martyr, being a superhero is not very healthy, commentary on burnout and working too hard, everyone needs some sleep, mutual respect, no beta we die like idiots, nothing too graphic though!, the author rubs their grubby little gay hands all over canon, the jokers very complicated mental health, villain x hero go brrr, written by a trans gay autistic author thank u very much
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:39:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27880122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikawazowski/pseuds/mikawazowski
Summary: Joker leaned on the doorframe, watching the carnage with a dreamy expression. The dark knight in combat never failed to take his breath away. He watched as every punch landed at the same instant as a balanced kick in the opposite direction, the impact sending men flying into each other like a beautiful, gruesome ripple effect before he spun around to repeat the process. Ducking at the perfect moments and emerging at the next with a violent rhythm, like beautiful, gruesome clockwork. Beautiful, gruesome everything. The Joker started to laugh, but his breath hitched. Because Batman turned in such a way that the Joker got a glimpse of the masked face. He could hardly even describe the expression behind it. There was just something in the Bat’s eyes that seemed clouded, distracted, overwhelmed. Fragile?-In which the ridiculous amount of pressure on Bruce Wayne finally catches up to him and he crumbles. To both of their surprise, the Joker genuinely wants to help.
Relationships: Batman/Joker, Batman/The Joker, Joker (DCU) & Bruce Wayne, Joker (DCU)/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 20
Kudos: 94





	1. wavering

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimers at the end <3

It wasn’t even dramatic.

That was what pissed the Joker off. It wasn’t exciting.

There existed fellow criminals that Joker (to varying degrees and under very specific circumstances) respected. For instance, he thought the Riddler was rather fun to annoy, he liked the Scarecrow’s style, and he was happy to team up with the Penguin. Beyond the criminals he enjoyed, there were countless powerful, horrifying people that the Bat had been fighting for years. Criminals that had put the work in, devoted sweat and blood and flesh to their respective feuds that, while not as special as what he had with Batman, Joker was happy to acknowledge.

Yet, it was none of them. None of the numerous villains that any asshole on the streets of Gotham would recognize. Instead, it was a bunch of nobodies. Some random henchmen who, for no reason but- what, chance? -succeeded.

Batman, for no fucking reason, went and lost today. To some henchmen.

It made no sense, but not in the way that Joker enjoyed his nonsense. He hated it.

Of course, this implied that the unmasking of Batman could ever happen in a way that the Joker would be okay with. Which, no, it couldn’t. Sure, the lack of theatrics made his blood boil, but a version of this in which his blood was just fine and dandy and lukewarm didn’t exist. It could have been a criminal that Joker respected, defeating Batman in the most explosive, dramatic, hilarious way and he would still be furious. 

They still wouldn’t have the right, not in a million years. No one had the right to touch the caped crusader in that way, not even Joker himself.

No one.

… Backing up.

He got into this situation because he was bored on a Saturday night.

He’d only gotten out of Arkham recently and hadn’t thought of any evil plots to set in motion yet, so he didn’t know what to spend his time on.

He sat in his current hideout, a nice little abandoned warehouse, on a stolen sofa while eating handfuls of Takis and half-listening to one of his employees.

The employee was a generic twenty-something-year-old escaped convict with big dreams, a grudge against heroes, a desire for some twisted sense of righteousness, yadda yadda. This kind of person came by the dozen in Gotham. But right before Joker could get bored and order the other guards to kill the man, his favorite name was invoked. Batman.

It was such a cheap tactic to get his attention, everyone knew it, but his attention was negative 70% of the time. Most people wouldn’t risk garnering the Joker’s attention on purpose. Most people wouldn’t seek him out at all, in fact- talking to the boss unprompted was well-known as suicide. That was because he found most of his employees derivative and boring, not to mention he’d never get anything done if he entertained every wannabe crime-lord with a plan. Even when bored, he didn’t take suggestions. But, then again, the Joker was nothing if not inconsistent. 

It sounded sort of relaxing… Getting a few hostages together, stabbing some cops, causing a scene downtown to lure the Bat, and maybe getting the shit kicked out of him before escaping. Now that sounded like a sweet night. And maybe his willingness to act on this little impulse had something to do with his mood, which was casually agonized, and maybe this was a convenient way to distract himself, but no one needed to analyze that. So, he launched off the sofa and wrapped an arm around the fresh-faced little criminal, rubbed Taki dust off his fingers, and started cooking up a quick plot.

Flash forward about four hours of prep work and Joker was pacing on the top floor of a hotel.

All staff had been either tied up or murdered and replaced by clowns guarding the guests, who were locked in their rooms. Joker was making good use of the intercom system, which he figured was normally used to announce breakfast or that little Timmy was lost and could his mom please come to reception and pick him up, but was much more useful in times of crisis.

The- admittedly justified- paranoia in Gotham made things easy; these days every building had some security system to infiltrate. Their efforts to be safer only worked against them. Joker was mulling this over as he sang orders into the intercom.

“Remember, dearies! Keep the hostages in their rooms and locked up tight! We can’t have Batsy freeing them before he comes and says hello to me, now can we? If you see him approach, or anyone even thinks of trying to escape, you have permission to get stabby.” He grinned and plopped down into his chair.

Honestly, he couldn’t remember the last time he did something so fun without a grand motive behind it. It felt good to get back to his roots.

He’d had the idea of broadcasting it, too, and that made it even more nostalgic. He had the security camera footage and whatever he spoke into the intercom sent to the local news network. The events were being aired live for all the city’s freaks to enjoy from their couches. 

It made him feel like he was in an experimental indie film told through shitty security cams and the occasional static-filled announcement. It was hilarious. He always loved being live and speaking to the masses directly, so knowing that everyone could hear his orders gave him a thrill. He belted little songs and guffawed and quipped into the intercoms as he searched for Batman on the cams.

God, it really was good to get back to his roots.

In hindsight, the first red flag of the night was how long it took for Batman to show up. Not too long, but by Batman standards, it was just a little odd. Joker taunted him over the intercoms, asking if date night had been interrupted or he couldn’t be bothered to get out of bed sooner, but ultimately shrugged it off as the Bat may have been on the premises for longer and simply gone undetected. That certainly wasn't unheard of.

But the second red flag of the night, Joker noted, was a little harder to explain away. Batman was always bold and driven and knew exactly what he was going to do, yet tonight he seemed to bounce between strategies.

On the first floor of the hotel, he took down all the clown guards in one fell swoop, freeing those hostages from their rooms and getting them into police custody before more guards had a chance to emerge and take their place. A bold choice, ignoring the danger, but one that Batman was capable of making.

Joker mocked it and gave out another warning, that he could and would order all the guards in the hotel to kill their hostages at once if this kept up. Amazingly, it looked like Batman hadn’t considered that until he said it. As if he didn’t realize until now that all the clowns in the hotel were listening for orders and could hear Joker’s voice too.

Now that was fucking weird.

Batman was not one to just overlook such an obvious fact about a situation. Sure Batman was known for being bold and driven, but on the other hand, he was incredibly cautious when it came to civilians. He was obsessed with minimizing casualties, he analyzed every situation to find a tactic that would leave no man, woman, or child behind. It wasn’t like him to be so reckless. He was lucky Joker wasn’t in the mood to end things early.

After Batman’s brilliant realization that taking the palace by storm was a bad idea, the Joker watched as he dipped into a vent and escaped from the gaze of the security cams. Joker cursed and sulked over the loss.

And then an odd amount of time passed.

That was red flag number three.

Joker had no idea what was taking the Bat so long. It gave him the opportunity to taunt his own men- something he always enjoyed, putting them on edge and giggling about how they could be taken out at any moment. That made him feel a little better, but he couldn’t help feeling uneasy. Everything that had happened up to now could be easily explained, were likely flukes, weren’t big deals at all. But three inconsistencies, no matter how small, felt wrong. No matter how small, no matter if no one else in the world noticed, Joker noticed and he knew Batman never wavered like this. He should have been taking the opportunity to kill everyone, to win, but he was too bothered by the situation.

Fortunately, Joker was roused from his uneasiness by the sound of screaming down the hall. Oh. His lips split into a grin and he jumped out of his seat, casting a cursory glance at the monitors to confirm that you-know-who had finally emerged. On the top floor with him, no less! Unable to contain his newfound good mood, he kicked the door open and emerged from the security room to watch the fun in person.

And oh, how fun it looked. Joker had almost forgotten how many goons he’d set up out here. They were all well on their way to the ground, so many falling on top of each other that the hotel was gaining a new carpet of unconscious bodies. Joker leaned on the doorframe, watching the carnage with a dreamy expression.

The dark knight in combat never failed to take his breath away. He watched as every punch landed at the same instant as a balanced kick in the opposite direction, the impact sending men flying into each other like a beautiful, gruesome ripple effect before he spun around to repeat the process. Ducking at the perfect moments and emerging at the next with a violent rhythm, like beautiful, gruesome clockwork. Beautiful, gruesome everything.

The Joker started to laugh, but his breath hitched. Because Batman turned in such a way that the Joker got a glimpse of his masked face.

Red flag number four.

The expression on Batman’s face was one he had never seen before. He could hardly even describe it. There was just something in his eyes that seemed clouded, distracted, overwhelmed. Fragile? It knocked all the air out of Joker’s lungs as he watched Batman waver. The goons started to get in hits, even daring stabs at the armor- that wouldn’t be too concerning, but more from the lower floors were coming up to join the fray and Batman wasn’t counteracting them fast enough. He was still knocking some out, but he was slowing down and the clowns weren’t.

The panicked look in his eyes grew worse while the men only grew more energized, high off the adrenaline of holding their own against the famous vigilante. They started to swarm him, beating him to a pulp. Joker watched with a fascinated detachment. He felt outside of his body, outside of time, processing the events before him in slow motion.

Batman fell, was on the ground. Most of the clowns were standing around him, screaming and cheering like the lunatics they were. One man who he faintly recognized as the grunt from before was kneeling above Batman.

The grunt grabbed onto the bat helmet and started pulling. Started exposing pale flesh.  
  
Joker’s mind snapped back into real time.  
In an instant he drew his gun and shot the only security camera nearby. Then, without missing a beat, turned and shot the grunt, who shrieked and collapsed forward onto Batman.

All activity in the hall ceased.

At the time he didn’t notice, but in hindsight Joker would be proud that his little dummies were smart enough to go silent. He took a few seconds- or maybe a few minutes, who knows? To breathe heavily before looking at the frozen men.

“What on earth are you all staring at? Get out. Go downstairs, put your heads down and wait.” Joker said slowly. He pointed to the corpse laying on top of Batman. “He acted without waiting for my orders. I doubt you want to make the same mistake.”

The response was a little chorus of ‘What?’ And ‘You heard him, dipshit!’ And ‘Why?.

Joker reloaded the gun and shot two of them. That put a nice spring in everyone’s step.

(Did he purposefully shoot the men who could have seen Batman’s face from their positions? No way. Just a coincidence.)

In any case, the hallway emptied out. He exhaled, appreciating a little quiet for once. After a few more minutes he closed the distance between himself and the elephant/bat in the room, heels clacking. He kicked away the corpse that covered Batman, then knelt down to inspect him. Out cold, as far as he could tell- which explained why he hadn’t thrown the body away on his own by now. Or just sucker-punched the Joker. Or gone to free the hostages or- yeah, it just made sense.

He just watched the unconscious face for a moment.

Seeing Batman’s face wasn’t as exciting as you’d think, honestly. The Greek god jawline Joker was used to seeing simply continued into a Greek god face. The kind of face you could accurately describe as ‘chiseled’ if you didn’t die gagging from the clichéness first. In the back of his mind he thought it looked a little familiar… Maybe a guy from an infomercial? Oh well. Joker didn’t keep track of celebrities. He hummed and picked the helmet off the floor, running his fingers over the material and fastening it back onto the Bat’s head with an affectionate pat.

But just as he did, a hand shot out and grabbed him by the throat.

He tried to send the Bat crushing his windpipe an annoyed glare, but it was a little difficult. After a few seconds of struggling he was released and hit the floor next to Batman with a thud, coughing and gasping for breath.

“Jesus, Batsy, what was that for?! You know I always let you choke me, just give a guy some warning first!” He spat, rubbing his neck gingerly. While he spoke, Batman started to sit up but failed and hit the back of his armored head on the ground. “Oh please, don’t you pass out again! Will you go for the chokehold every time you wake up? I’ll need to poke you with a stick next time.” Joker grumbled as the Bat’s half-open eyes darted around, clearly struggling to focus. 

Despite himself, he felt a little pity for the Bat and let out a sigh. “Or… fine, go back to sleep. I’m kidnapping you.”

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say to relax Batman.

Joker tried to backpedal. “Not literally! Look, look, okay, just listen- lay down and listen! No one’s here but us and a pile of guys you knocked out.” He decided not to mention the three dead bodies. He exhaled and continued to speak more concisely than he normally would, if only because he didn’t know how much was getting through to Batman.

“It’s just us. And you’re not functional, alright? If I was gonna kill you I would have done it. You’re barely conscious and you’re probably bleeding under that thing, too. Take it off and I’ll carry your civilian form out of here. That’s the only way I can get you out, if you don’t want the do-gooders outside to come in and carry an injured Batman to the hospital. You might trust them more than me, Bats, but they’ll definitely take that thing off your face and they’ll know who you are.” 

The silence afterwards felt endless.

He didn’t know if his logic rang true, if Bats was more scared of the media than of him, if he’d proved himself by shooting the camera earlier, or if Batman was simply too tired to make any other decision. Whatever the thought process was, it ended with Batman closing his eyes and, teeth gritted,

nodding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in the process of updating to fix the formatting ✌️


	2. different

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce is taken back to the Joker’s hideout, where he tries not to confront reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! gentle warning, this chapter has a sudden shift in tone near the end that may feel a little bit heavy for some people. if you’re susceptible to triggers related to depression, shitty mental healthcare/ableism, implied s*icide and other painful discussions, then this fic might not be the best for you. please, mind your limits and take care of yourself! <3

His head throbbed.

He didn’t even have the energy to be bothered by the feeling. It wasn’t new. All he had the energy to do was burrow further into the corner of his mind, into the warm oblivion of sleep. To keep his view dark and will himself to not exist. Unfortunately, he kept being tugged out of that corner. The side effects of being a tangible human kept nagging him. There were the physical sensations- the aforementioned throb in his head, plus a thousand other aches in his sides, his neck, his limbs. A burning feeling that he was at least used to ignoring. It was harder to ignore the things he wasn’t used to, such as the air against his face, making it clear that he was in motion. And the voices. He didn’t usually hear voices.

“Hey, it’s the boss! He’s back, boys!” There was cheering, murmuring and swearing all around him. He wanted to cut his ears off. “What the- does he have Bruce fucking Wayne?”

“Ohh! Is that who this is?” That last voice came from directly above him and his headache instantly doubled. The fact that he recognized it accentuated his desire to go back to sleep or maybe die rather than remember what got him here. 

The Joker.

Oh god he was still talking.

“You know, I thought he looked familiar, but I couldn’t put my finger on it!” He was laughing in that obnoxious way of his. “This is perfect, the prince of Gotham just waltzed into my lap? God, I’m good. He’ll be a fun hostage. Oh, speaking of hostages! I decided to leave early, so everyone was probably caught. Some of you might want to go break your brothers and sisters in arms out of jail.”

The response to that was even more people shouting over each other, but it was cut off by the shutting of a metal door and the noise became muffled. Bearable. For the first time, Bruce dared opening his eyes. He was met with the view of a concrete floor and his own lap. Okay, he was sitting down. More specifically, he was tied by his wrists and ankles to a chair. A spinny chair. And underneath the ropes binding him to the chair, he was… swaddled... in what seemed to be shower curtains. 

He regretted facing the situation.

Alas, when he tried to close his eyes, he was tugged back into the world again. By being vigorously shook by his shoulders.

“Oh, no you don’t! You’ve conked out enough times tonight, I am not dragging your sorry ass up a flight of stairs by myself!”

Bruce grunted and thrashed, finally meeting the Joker’s eyes. He glared. The Joker looked displeased too, but comically so, his thin red lips pulled into a ridiculous pout and his brows furrowed like a disappointed parent in a cartoon. Bruce almost scoffed.

“Well? Are you going to say anything or are we back to the silent treatment?” 

After a labored pause he grunted out, “Why?” 

“Why what, B-boy?” 

Bruce pointedly looked down at his… situation. 

“Don’t give me that face! I was limited to one floor of a hotel- would you rather I rolled you up and stuffed you in a suitcase? Huh?”

“Shower curtains?” 

Joker threw his hands up. “I had to hide your armor! Which, by the way, is SO complicated! Why don’t you have a ‘press here to get this shit off’ button? A big zipper down the front? Catwoman makes it work. Anyway, you should be grateful for my reputation. If anyone else wheeled you around like this they’d look crazy.”

“Mm. And you don’t.” 

“Watch it.” Joker hissed, and they locked eyes defiantly. Suffice to say he didn’t get the privilege of being untied at that moment, and they bickered through a very bumpy and very error-filled journey up the stairs. 

By the time they reached their destination (with one less wheel on the spinny chair and several stubbed toes) Joker looked almost as tired as him. Bruce watched as he stepped over a coffee table and flopped onto a sofa on the other side. Bruce realized with a shudder that they must be in Joker’s room, and he found himself looking around with curiosity. He hadn’t been to this hideout before. It was more concrete floor and walls- one of the old warehouses downtown, maybe. The walls were covered in colorful graffiti, unsurprising, and shelves of suspicious containers, also unsurprising. In one corner of the room was a huge crate of fireworks and in the middle of the room was a collection of about twenty knives tied to the ceiling fan. The explosives and knives being on display made him several times more concerned about whatever was actually being hidden. The coffee table between him and the sofa were the only furniture in the room apart from a big wardrobe. 

“Whatcha looking at?” Joker asked, still facedown on the sofa.

“Why don’t you have a bed?”

“Eh. Beds are just couches that think they’re too good to be sat on.” He yawned. 

“Are you planning to untie me?” 

That made the Joker pause and roll over, giving Bruce a weird look. “You are literally a master escape artist. You probably break handcuffs for fun, you can get out of some twine.” 

“And you’ll just let me go?” 

“What have I done to stop you?” He had a point. Bruce could have broken out at any time since he woke up, but he hadn’t. Joker sat up a little and continued. “If you’re wondering why you’re still here, I’d say it’s because something’s wrong with you.” 

Bruce blinked and opened his mouth to bite back, but was cut off. “—If you’re going to take the armor off and let me send in my personal medic, you should. They’re a doll, I promise, they’ll give you a lollipop at the end and everything!” 

There was quiet. Bruce considered it while slipping his arms and legs out of the rope, and throwing the curtain to the ground. He didn’t stand up right away, if only because there wasn’t another seat to take. Joker seemed to take that as a sign he was staying, and got up from the sofa. He walked to the wardrobe and pulled out some clothes, tossed them at Bruce and left the room. 

Bruce convinced himself it was simply smartest to play along until he had more information, and started busying himself taking the armor off. The truth was he didn’t have it in him to make a decision to go anywhere else. He was almost grateful for an excuse to not think. He couldn’t think about anything. He couldn’t think about why he was here, and what had happened, and what the consequences would be. 

He couldn’t. 

What he could do was be surprised that the Joker gave him relatively plain clothes- he didn’t think the man owned anything that wasn’t a neon abomination. It made sense, though, the guy must need to blend in sometimes. He pulled the black sweatshirt over his head and some grey sweatpants, relieved that they were both clean and unscented, at least. He didn’t like loose fitted clothes, or the feeling of light fabric, but he wasn’t about to ask for one of Joker’s three piece suits. He finally folded up the Batsuit and snuck it under the sofa to be safe, then sat down. There was a knock on the door before long and Joker’s apparent medic came in. They were quiet, which was more than he could say for Joker and the rest of his associates. It didn’t ease any of his tension, though, it took every ounce of self-restraint not to kick them away and jump out the window. He was barely comfortable letting _Aflred_ dress his wounds for god’s sake, this would be torture. 

But it was better than thinking about what Alfred would be feeling in the aftermath of his little stunt. 

The medic lifted up his new clothes and examined him, rubbing something cold on most of his bruises. He needed stitches in one place on his back and his body tensed up when they warned him, but they got it over with quickly. His torso, knuckles and one leg were treated with some more salve and bandaged up for good measure. They asked if Joker was allowing him to stay untied, and he just nodded. They promised to send him back in and he numbly nodded again. They left. Only a few minutes passed before Joker was, in fact, sent back in. In the back of Bruce’s mind he was surprised that Joker had allowed him so much privacy to begin with. It seemed out of character for the clown he knew, always trying to watch him like a zoo animal. He must have really looked like shit. 

“You look like shit,” Joker commented helpfully as he sat down on the sofa again.

“... Thanks.” 

“Welcome!” He chirped. “Feel any better?”

Bruce stared blankly.

“That’s a no. I’m not surprised, buuut you helped us get rid of some experimental bruise cream, so yay.” The Joker grinned and tilted his head. “... Penny for your thoughts?” 

Bruce grimaced and leaned back in his chair, feeling it strain against his weight. He debated staying silent, but his curiosity won out. “... What did you mean? When you said something’s wrong with me.” 

Joker hummed thoughtfully in response. “What did you think I meant?”

“You weren’t talking about my injuries. You’re not worried about this.”

“Not terribly, no. Should I be?”

“No.”

“Well, there you go. I don’t think anything’s wrong with your body. You’re as obnoxiously strong as ever.” Joker leaned back too, mirroring Bruce’s posture with a small smile. “So, something else is wrong.”

“No it’s not.”

“Really? Why did you lose, then?” He raised an eyebrow. “If you REALLY want to know what I meant, I think you’re like me.”

Bruce paused. “Like you?” 

“You know.” Joker brought a finger to his temple and tapped lightly. “Different.” 

“Different from what?” 

Joker barked out a laugh, apparently pleased by that. “Who knows, Batsy, who knows? It is a term meant to ‘other’ us, even though it’s more rare to not be fucked up in the head these days. I don’t know what we’re different from, but I do notice when people think they’re different from us. Think they’re better. Think they’re immune to the problems we have. But give them a shitty enough life or shitty enough genetics and they’ll become ‘different’ too. Different enough to, I don’t know, end up in Arkham?” 

Bruce just crossed his arms, feeling uneasy. 

“You know what I’m talking about, Batsy, you put us there. You punish the criminals you fight for being different. What, do you disagree?” Joker leaned forward, inspecting his face. “Put in a little white cell. Made to think and think and think about why thinking hurts so much. Forced to do little exercises by people who don’t give a shit about helping you because they think they’re above you, yet won’t let you die. That’s torture. I don’t mind personally, of course- suffering only makes escaping that much sweeter. But it’s funny to know what a little sadist you can be.” 

“I don’t punish you for being ‘different’, I punish you for being a murderer. Whatever’s in your heads isn’t an excuse to kill.” Bruce hissed out, eyes cold. 

“But what’s in our heads drives us there, Batman! And you’re one of us!” The Joker waved his hands around. “You clearly are, you can’t witness the things you do every night and dress up like a big bat and suplex every motherfucker who does anything wrong and come out of it normal! You’re in pain. You’re in pain because it’s too much.” He was getting worked up now, actually frowning. “You know, Batman, you have your rule against killing. But I really, really wonder if you’ll follow it forever. Most people think so- you’re so moral, so shiny, such a damn martyr that most people think you’d rather kill yourself than turn on someone else. But I’m hoping for a different outcome.”

Bruce’s head was spinning. He felt hot and he felt freezing and he wanted Joker to just stop talking, but it made him upset when he did and he was forced to sit in silence after all of that. When the Joker finally continued, his voice was a little quieter.

“Y’know,” Joker paused, licking his cracked lips. He was looking at the table. “If you _were_ to get yourself killed, Batman, I’m surprised. You picked an embarrassing way to go.” 

“I wasn’t.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Then why did you lose?” 

His voice faltered, breath hitching. “I don’t know.” 

Mercifully, the Joker seemed to accept that answer. They fell into silence afterwards. Both breathing unevenly and neither wanting to argue anymore, both fires having flickered out at once.

Then there was a gunshot downstairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i genuinely didn’t think anyone would be interested in this story so the comments on the first chapter meant a ton to me! i’ve never written a multi-chapter fic before but i’m super passionate about these characters, so it’s nice to know i’m not alone haha.


	3. phases

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new perspective on the events leading up to this point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> every batjokes fic has a chapter like this and it happened to me too, i couldnt resist. i call it the ✨alfred interlude✨

When Alfred used the word ‘phase’, he didn’t mean it in a dismissive way. Quite the contrary, he couldn’t understand when parents brushed off their children with the excuse that it was ‘just’ a phase. Phases, Alfred thought, were incredibly important. A phase could last two days or seven years, could be big or small, could impact the rest of your life, and could resurface at any time. One never knew if any given phase would be the last one of their life, so it was best to treat them all with equal care.

Bruce Wayne had phases because was a person, and much too unique of a person to remain in one state of existence for all of his life. Alfred had been there to witness countless many of these phases. Socially, Bruce was always swinging back and forth on a pendulum, and it had been that way for as long as he’d lived. He’d been a cheerful little lad making friends with everyone at school, and then he’d been a shy one who decided having friends was too much and he’d rather read by himself. He’d been a tiny thing scared of adults at dinner parties, hiding behind his fathers leg, and then he’d been a little star trying to impress them all. His eagerness to interact with people came and went in waves as he grew up, and Alfred was content to let that be; Bruce would do just fine wherever he landed on the topic, he was sure.

But then Thomas and Martha were gone, and suddenly he wasn’t sure of anything.

The periods of isolation were worrisome for obvious reasons. It couldn’t be healthy for a boy to lock himself away in his room, not speaking to anyone but his butler-turned-guardian who hadn’t a clue what he was doing. For him not to go out in the sun and play and make memories like the other kids his age, it made Alfred’s heart ache. But then again, Alfred didn’t know how he could say that to him. The boy was mourning, for God’s sake- Alfred knew if he was forced outside he would be equally miserable.

So Alfred didn’t force it. He simply offered as much company as he could. He gave his not-quite-son time to, he hoped, heal.

But when the pendulum eventually swung the other way, it was just as worrisome. Bruce started to grow into a teenager, and the little social butterfly was back. Alfred was so relieved, on the one hand, to see him going out with other people, experiencing life and making mistakes like teenagers were supposed to. On the other hand, he didn’t think it was entirely healthy, the way it happened. Bruce hadn’t faced his inner turmoil- merely swept it under a rug and began living a life to distract himself. He would go out with people he hated and do things he hated doing. He would come home late after going to parties with people that likely weren’t good influences. He was no doubt doing more out there than he should have been at his age, but he wouldn’t talk to Alfred about it or allow him to give any advice.

Alfred never punished him, never got angry or shouted, because it wasn’t his place. Even if it had been his place, he didn’t think a child in pain would have deserved punishment. Alfred only argued and expressed his worry, just as not-parents were supposed to do with not-their-rebellious-teens.

The cycle continued; Bruce’s emotions and habits changed and changed, and for the most part, that was okay. Alfred always worried, but he had to stay faithful through it all and simply trust that some day, when he needed it, Bruce would ask for help. In the meantime he would always be there to nudge him in the right direction. Things were obviously a bit different since Batman came into play. Bruce was more cautious now that he had the weight of the city on his shoulders, but he was still as contradictory as ever, and Alfred liked to tease him for it. The irony of a man who snored during business meetings at Wayne enterprises but couldn’t be forced to take a break from work to sleep at night had to be pointed out.

All this background to say, Alfred knew Bruce Wayne better than anyone. He certainly knew enough to say he was going through a uniquely terrible phase.

It was the quiet, antisocial type that had reared its head many times before, and Alfred wondered if it would go away on its own this time. Bruce’s lack of energy radiated off him- Alfred swore he sprouted a new gray hair every time he looked at him. Bruce didn’t sleep enough as is, but after waking up screaming five times in one week, he seemed to stop sleeping entirely. Alfred couldn’t convince him to start again. 

Bruce was always awake but never active, either in his bed with his eyes glued to one spot on the wall or taking four hour showers or not showering at all. He would stare past the breakfast Alfred brought in, perfectly silent, looking like his own mind was a burning building and he simply could not find a way out no matter how hard he tried. It had been like that for a month. The only time he snapped out of his trance was to patrol or respond to bat signals. And god, did it scare Alfred to have him doing that in such a state.

Apparently, he was right to be scared: his worst fears had come true last night. There was a hostage threat from the damned clown, because of course there was. Alfred went straight to the Batcave to try and convince Bruce to let the GCPD handle it for once. He stepped out of the elevator and was greeted by the sight of Bruce about half-way suited up, with that far-off look in his eyes. When he looked closely, he realized Bruce was shaking. It took about two minutes of approaching and gently calling his name for Bruce to even notice someone else was there. When he did, it was with a sudden jolt- he grabbed Alfred’s arms and restrained him, no doubt by instinct.

  
“It’s only me, master Bruce.” He said patiently. Recognition and regret flickered across Bruce’s face and he let go, stumbling back.

  
“Alfred. Sorry- I’m so sorry.”

  
“Oh, don’t be silly. I startled you.” Alfred brushed him off, more concerned by an actual apology. “Do you have time to speak?

  
“I-“ Bruce frowned, taking a moment to remember the answer. “I… was just leaving… fuck. The Joker.”

  
“Language, master Bruce.”

  
“Alfred, I need to go, I’ve wasted too much time.” He swore again under his breath, pulling on the rest of his armor.

  
“Sir-”

  
“Tell me later.”

  
Alfred barely had time to blink before Bruce was off into the night.

Reluctantly, he had turned to the super computer and started manning it as always. He made sure the suit was functioning at full capacity and pulled up a map of the hotel. He thought he could at least help Bruce stay focused through his headpiece, but apparently Bruce had cut off communication. He heaved a heavy sigh and rubbed his temples. That boy would give him a heart attack one of these days.  
With nothing else he could do, he kept his eyes focused on the news and Bruce’s vitals, silently praying that it would be fine as always.

But he watched as Bruce was overpowered, falling to the ground and being grabbed at, life signs fading into unconsciousness right as the camera footage cut out. At that moment, Alfred stopped praying and decided God was a dick. He’d been patient long enough.

-

Bruce jolted when he heard the gunshot. His head snapped over to the Joker, ready to throttle him for luring Bruce into a trap after all, but the clown looked equally startled by the noise.

“What’s going on?”

“How should I know?”

“This is your hideout.”

“Oh, I hadn’t noticed!” Joker gasped mockingly. Bruce growled. “What? I’m telling the truth, I didn’t have anything planned tonight! Well, anything else.”

Bruce ignored him and got to his feet, while Joker picked up some communication device from a shelf and started demanding answers into it. He didn’t need to try hard to hear gunfire and distressed shouting from Joker’s people.

“I don’t care who’s at the door, Robert, I am busy! Well then stab the man, it’s not rocket science! What do you mean he’s taking out- hello? Hello?! Oh, good grief.” Joker slammed the device down and turned toward the door, hissing in frustration. “Pardon me, Bats, it looks like I need to save my incompetent buffoons-”

Bruce grabbed his wrist before he could walk out. Joker looked between him and their connected arms, eyebrows raising.

Bruce breathed in.“... You know who I am. What are you going to do now?”

Joker blinked once, then twice. He grinned with a certain sweetness, a softness that made Bruce’s stomach churn. “Oh, Batsy, what are you saying? That doesn’t change a thing between us.”

He pulled away and opened the door.

Bruce bounded down the stairs, Joker following behind. When they reached the bottom and the huge metal door separating them from presumably the main hall of the hideout, Bruce pressed his ear against it and listened. Sure enough, that was the source of the commotion. It was quieting down, though. There was no active gunfire anymore, only quiet groaning from Joker’s people, and… footsteps, steadily approaching. 

He turned around and tackled Joker away from the door just as it swung open. They hit the ground with his own body shielding Joker, but they weren’t safe- he turned his head to see-

“Alfred?”

“Master Bruce?”

“What the fuck!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’m so sorry to continue the cliffhanger lmao i hope it’s not too annoying! i had to cut this chapter in half because it got long, so this ended up as mostly a recap. i know my writing is super flawed, but y’all’s kindness made me keep going and i appreciate it so much! feel free to comment or just message me on discord (@mika#0760) between chapters if you want to chat💖

**Author's Note:**

> hey, so this is the first thing I’ve written since literally 2016 and even before that I didn’t really know how to write lmao, so go easy on me! I’m totally open to tips and criticism, but this is just for fun tbh. born from my enjoyment of villain/hero love/hate relationships, but also not wanting any dubcon creepiness, just conflicted feelings and miscommunication that takes a million years to work out. and then they smooch. it’s an amalgamation of my favorite batman depictions, so you don’t need to have seen anything specific for it to make sense, it’s just a general plot. I haven’t read all the comics so there will probably be some plots that have been done before in canon, and that’s okay! title inspired by the song Villainous Thing by shayfer james. if you decided to actually read this I will give u a thousand grateful smooches, mwah


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